


in the garden

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, illness mention, samothes/samot/hadrian implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 04:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Samol hires a new gardener. Samot and Samothes are not quite sure what to make of it.





	in the garden

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to maddie, for betaing, and for that time you took me to the gardening centre when i needed to see plants

Samothes waits until right at the very end of the call, as he always does, to ask if Samol needs anything fixed around the house. Samot rolls his eyes at it. 

 

“You always ask that right before you hang up,” says Samot, poking Samothes with his foot where he’s stretched out on the other side of the couch, “he’s not going to tell you he needs help with something half-way through your goodbyes.”

 

“He’s not going to say he needs my help at  _ all _ ,” says Samothes, covering the phone.

 

“Of course I don’t need your help,” says Samol.

 

Samothes raises his eyebrows at Samot in an  _ I told you so _ gesture. Samot throws up his hands, but he’s smiling as he looks back down at his book.

 

“But now that you mention it, I am looking at clearing out the yard,” says Samol.

 

Samothes blinks. “That’s a big job.”

 

“I know,” says Samol. “That’s why I found a young man to come do it for me.”

 

Samothes sits up at that, drawing Samot’s attention.

 

“You got…” Samothes pauses, chooses different words. “You know Samot or I would be happy to come and help out.”

 

“Nah,” says Samol, and Samothes can picture the wave of his hand, brushing off Samothes’ concerns, “You’re both busy and I don’t want to take up all of your weekends.”

 

“You know we wouldn’t mind.”

 

“I know,” says Samol, voice warm through the phone. “But I can’t imagine either of you would be thrilled about it.”

 

Samothes pictures the tangle of greenery and dead weeds that Samol’s back garden has become, mentally calculating how many weekends it would take to actually get it done. A lot.

 

Samol chuckles. “Exactly. Better I get a young man with some free time on his hands to do what mine can’t anymore. Maelgwyn was around here today, said he might know of someone who could use the work.”

 

Samothes doesn’t know whether to tense or relax. Maelgwyn’s friends run a broad scale from ‘promising chemistry student’ to ‘dangerous criminal’. Samot leans towards him, putting a comforting hand on Samothes’ arm before plucking the phone from his hand.

 

“Did he say who?”

 

“No,” says Samol, sounding amused, “I don’t know that he had someone in mind at all, but I’m sure he’ll come through. That boy is resourceful.”

 

Samot hums, the sound of him considering which line of argument to take, so Samothes quickly takes the phone back.

 

“I’m sure Maelgwyn will find someone suitable,” says Samothes, “and we’d be happy to help them out, get things done a little faster.”

 

“I know,” says Samol.

 

He asks about Samothes’ work, a clear change of topic, and Samothes doesn’t push. If Maelgwyn’s friend turns out to be one of the more… unreliable ones, he and Samot can always step in.

 

“We could always ask Hadrian to help out,” says Samot, as they discuss it over dinner.

 

Samothes chokes on the fish he’s eating. “ _ No _ .”

 

“Not like-  _ Samothes _ ,  _ really _ ,” says Samot, laughing a little, “I meant more in the heavy lifting. I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”

 

“I’m sure he would,” says Samothes, “But that back garden…”

 

Samot hums in agreement.

 

In their youth, the garden was an almost magical place. Fruit trees and an orderly vegetable patch surrounded by bursts of flowers, a greenhouse packed with plants Samothes had rarely seen anywhere else. Samol had been out in it almost every day no matter the weather, even well into their adulthood, even after Maelgwyn was grown.

 

And then he’d gotten sick, and as it got harder for him to go out, the garden got harder to control, and they’d been so busy with everything that they hadn’t even spared a thought for weeding until they’d looked out the window one day and realised that Samol’s back lawn had become a field.

 

Samol was better now, but not  _ so _ better that he could (or, in Samothes’s opinion,  _ should _ ) be out there trying to pull up trees and cut down waist-high grass.

 

“We should have organised someone to clear that back garden years ago,” says Samot.

 

“He would never have agreed to it,” said Samothes, “this way I suppose he can at least guide what they’re doing.”

 

“That’s an argument for asking Hadrian,” says Samot.

 

Samothes laughs, and reaches across the table for Samot’s hand, tangling their fingers together.

 

He doesn’t think much more about it until Maelgwyn comes over for dinner a few weeks later. It’s not their usual day for a family meal together, that’s still set as it always is for lunch at Samol’s house the following day, but it’s the start of the semester break and Samot had insisted on celebrating it. Samothes greets him at the door, giving a surprised laugh at the stack of boxes in Maelgwyn’s arms.

 

He takes a box off the top, stepping back to allow Maelgwyn inside. “I didn’t think you’d borrowed this many from your father.”

 

“I didn’t, these are from grandpa,” says Maelgwyn, hefting the second box out of his car. “He was looking for some of his old gardening tools in the shed, to give to the guy helping him redo the garden, and he found some of dad’s old books.”

 

“The guy-- oh, yes, he did mention that. I didn’t realise he’d already organised it,” says Samothes.

 

“Yeah, Castille’s ex, Hella, knew someone who was looking for a summer job,” says Maelgwyn, huffing a breath as he set the box of books down on the table, “apparently he’s like, great with plants, or he loves them, or something.” He shrugs. “He seems okay.”

 

“I see,” says Samothes, trying to keep his tone light and conversational, “so you know him?”

 

Maelgwyn shrugs again. “Sort of.”

 

“Maelgwyn!” says Samot, opening his arms wide as he entered the room and pulling Maelgwyn in for a hug.

 

“You saw me, like, last week,” says Maelgwyn, but he does return the hug.

 

“An entire week ago already,” says Samot, “and what’s all this?”

 

“Books;” says Maelgwyn, “grandpa said to give them to you.”

 

Samot opens the flap of the box with the tip of one finger, gasping as he looks inside. “It’s all my old poetry books! Oh, your father used to spend  _ hours _ reading these to me when we were your age.”

 

Maelgwyn looks pained. “Uh huh.”

 

“I wonder if any of them still have my notes in them,” says Samot, forgetting his wariness at the layers of dust and pulling out book after book.

 

Samothes kisses the top of his head. “I’ll go check on the pasta.”

 

Samot hums, already distracted, flicking through the pages of one of the books.

 

“I’ll help you,” says Maelgwyn, quickly following him.

 

“I think everything in here is almost done,” says Samothes, “but you could set the table.”

 

Samothes stirs the pasta sauce, smiling at the familiar sound of plates clinking as Samot turns the pages of an old book, any worries over Samol momentarily forgotten.

 

They’re running a little late the next morning - Samot found some books that he was  _ certain _ are Samol’s at the bottom of the box and he wanted to clean them up before they took them back, Maelgwyn predictably oversleeps and has to be forced out of bed and into getting ready, and  _ then  _ they forget the salad they promised to bring and have to turn around after a block to go get it. 

 

“I’ll grab the books,” says Maelgwyn, “I’ll just be a sec, you guys don’t have to wait.”

 

Samothes suspects what he  _ actually _ wants to do is call Castille, but he lets it go. Samot had spent the evening reading out Samothes’ terrible attempts at poetry to him, and so being young and desperately in love is fresh in his mind.

 

(“As though any poem could ever truly capture you,” says Samothes.

 

“Certainly these poems cannot,” says Samot, but he smiles up at Samothes when he says it.)

 

The front door is, as always, unlocked. He hears the familiar click-hiss of the fridge door being opened as they approach the kitchen.

 

“Hey dad!” calls Samot, walking towards the kitchen ahead of Samothes.

 

He stops suddenly in the doorway, Samothes almost walking into the back of him. It doesn’t take Samothes long to see why. There’s a man in their father’s kitchen, shirtless and sweaty. He looks as though he’d gotten there by crawling through several backyards, nonchalantly drinking water and looking absolutely out of place in Samol’s pristine kitchen.

 

“Uh. Hi,” says the man.

 

“What are-- who-- Who  _ are  _ you?” 

 

“I’m Fero,” says Fero.

 

He shuts the fridge, leaving a streak of dirt on the shining metal door.

 

Samothes puts a hand on Samot’s shoulder. “Young man, if you do not explain yourself I  _ will  _ escort you out of this house myself.”

 

“Whoa! Whoa, okay! Hey, listen, Samol had to take a phone call so he said to just come in here to get it as long as I didn’t get dirt on too much stuff.” He puts a hand on the fridge as if to lean against it and then jerks back, noticing the streak of dirt already there. “Uh. Oops.”

 

Fero pulls an equally grubby-looking t-shirt from his back pocket, wiping at the streak.

 

“Anyway,” continues Fero, “I think he’s on the phone to Tristero and you know how long those two can go on for.”

 

The door creaks open and swings shut behind them.

 

“What are- oh, hey,” says Maelgwyn, “I see you met my fathers.”

 

Fero raises the bottle of water in greeting. “Oh  _ these _ are  _ your dads _ . That makes sense.”

 

“Because grandpa likes you, I’m going to ignore that,” says Maelgwyn, “speaking of…”

 

“He’s on the porch, on the phone to Tristero,” says Fero, “so  _ I _ am taking a break.”

 

“What’s today’s task?”

 

“The citrus trees. Well,” says Fero, taking a gulp of water, “I think today’s probably going to end up being more like the vines  _ around _ the citrus trees so I can actually tell what I’m dealing with.”

 

“If any of them are even still alive back there,” says Samol, leaning on the doorway.

 

Fero grins at him. “They might surprise you! They’re tough old guys.”

 

Samol huffs a laugh. “Well we won’t know for sure until you pull all the morning glory off them.”

 

“Is this your way of telling me to get back to work?” says Fero.

 

“Unless you want to be a part of lunch with my sons and grandson,” says Samol.

 

Fero glances back at Samothes and Samot. “I think I’ll have a better time with the vines. Besides, I want to get most of it done today, I have Lem’s poetry thing tomorrow so I won’t be able to get here until the afternoon.”

 

“I’ll save you something,” says Samol.

 

“ _ Please _ ,” says Fero, “your cooking is  _ the best _ .”

 

Samol chuckles. “So I’ve been told.”

 

Fero grins at him, chugging the last of the water and putting the bottle in the sink, a habit no doubt drilled into him by Samol. Samothes tries to remember how long he must have been working for Samol. It’s been awhile since Maelgwyn first mentioned it, maybe a few months.

 

“Put on sunscreen,” says Samol, “it’s on the porch.”

 

“You’re not gonna help me put it on?” says Fero, his grin turning sharp.

 

Samot makes a strangled noise.

 

The corners of Samol’s mouth twitch, as though he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m sure you can manage, just this once.”

 

Fero sighs dramatically. “Alright, but if I get sunburnt you’re going to have to deal with it.”

 

“I’d be  _ happy  _ to,” says Samol.

 

Samothes resists the urge to hide his face in his hands.

 

Fero laughs, waving at them cheerfully and heading towards the backyard.

 

“When you said you’d gotten someone to help you with the garden, I didn’t think you meant…” Samothes trails off.

 

“I don’t know that the two of you want to be throwing stones in this glass house you built for yourself,” says Samol, “given the young man that mows your lawns.”

 

Samothes feels himself flush, turning and busying himself with getting plates out. Samot is less deterred.

 

“ _ Hadrian _ helps us with  _ yard work _ ,” says Samot.

 

“He barely knows how to turn on the lawn mower,” says Maelgwyn, setting the bag of books down on the counter.

 

“Your father’s inventions can be difficult for other people to use,” says Samot, “you know that.”

 

“Oh, is _that_ why one of you has to go out there every time he mows the lawn and bodily show him how to do it?”

 

“Now now Maelgwn, what your parents do is their own business,” says Samol, “just like what  _ I _ do is  _ my  _ business.”

 

“I’m not trying to tell you your business,” says Samot, “I’m just  _ saying _ it’s a little jarring to see you act that way with someone your grandson’s age.”

 

“Well now you have some idea of how I feel when I come to see you and come across your young man,” said Samol.

 

“So this is some kind of weird revenge thing?” said Samot, “Because Hadrian is a grown man and we have-”

 

Samol holds up a hand. “I got no interest on getting revenge or whatever else on you two for enjoying your life. That’s just what I’m trying to do with mine. It’s nice to forget my aches and pains for a time in that young man’s company. And unless one of you sees a  _ real _ problem with it, I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

 

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway and they turned to see Fero, his face a little too pink to entirely be sunburn, still shirtless but now wearing gardening gloves.

 

“Um, Samol? Sorry to-” Fero makes a face, “whatever, this is super awkward and I’m not that sorry.”

 

Samol laughs, the tension leaving his shoulders. Fero grins.

 

“I think I found, like, the remains of a gazebo back there,” says Fero. “Did you want to keep it or what?”

 

“There’s no gazebo back there,” says Samol.

 

“Then it’s some kind of shed or something then, I don’t know,” says Fero. “Are you gonna keep it or should I pull it down?”

 

“Is this  _ really _ that urgent?” says Samothes.

 

“Well, kind of,” says Fero, “because I either go slow and cut the vines around the gazebo or whatever, or I go fast and pull them and potentially take whatever it is down with the vines.”

 

“Whatever you think is fine, Fero,” says Samol.

 

Fero shakes his head. “Hey man, it’s  _ your  _ garden, I’m just a pair of working hands.”

 

“You’re more than that,” says Samol.

 

The blush on Fero’s cheeks deepens and he ducks his head, smiling.

 

“Can you two at least wait until I’m not right about to eat?” says Maelgwyn.

 

“Oh like you and Castille aren’t the worst,” says Fero.

 

Samol laughs, standing up. “I suppose I’d better come see what you’ve found and leave my poor grandson to eat in peace.”

 

“I doubt I’ll get it,” says Maelgwyn, “my dads are still here.”

 

Fero laughs, holding the door open for Samol (and leaving a dirt handprint on the door).

 

The room seems much quieter without Samol and Fero in it.

 

Samothes lets out a long breath. “Well. I suppose now we know why he was in such a good mood on the phone last week.”

 

“ _ God _ .” Samot puts his head in his hands. He looks at Maelgwyn. “Why didn’t you  _ tell _ us?”

 

Maelgwyn shrugs. “I figured you’d find out eventually. This is actually going better than I thought it would, I thought you’d totally freak out.”

 

“Thank you for your endless confidence in us,” says Samothes.

 

After five minutes of tapping his foot under the table, Samot stands up. 

 

“I’m going to see what’s keeping him.”

 

Samothes stands too.

 

“I don’t want to know,” says Maelgwyn.

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” says Samothes, “try to save us  _ some _ lunch.”

 

The first thing he notices when they make their way outside is the lawn, neatly trimmed. The next is that the lavender in the planter boxes either side of the steps has been pruned back, cut to give clear pathway. The entire yard looks like it’s been given a similar treatment, gaps in-between plants where weeds have been pulled. There’s stakes in the ground where new plants have been put in, the vegetable garden covered in new netting.

 

He can see Samol and Fero towards the back of the garden, which still looks a little like the tangle of greenery Samothes remembers from his last visit. A few of the trees have been cleared of vines, but it certainly looks like it’s been a battle. Samol and Fero stand in the midst of a pile of vines, looking at a small half-collapsed woodern structure.

 

“Is that… Maelgwyn’s old playhouse?” says Samot quietly.

 

Samothes nods. He slips his hand into Samot’s, squeezing it. Samot squeezes back.

 

“I guess it  _ has _ been a while since I’ve done some real work back here,” they hear Samol say.

 

“So,” says Fero after a moment, “take it down or keep it?”

 

Samol considers it for a long moment. “I suppose keeping it is being overly nostalgic of me, but…”

 

Fero shrugs. “So we’ll keep it. We can fix it up after I get done with the garden.”

 

“Fix it up, huh?” says Samol, “Sounds like a quite a job.”

 

“I ever tell you about how I made, like, all my furniture?” says Fero, “This thing’ll be a piece of cake.”

 

Samol smiles. “I believe you’ve mentioned it once or twice. And what d’you reckon we use it for afterwards?”

 

Fero tilts his head, considering the playhouse. “Hadrian’s got a kid. Maybe his kid would like it.”

 

Samol lets out a laugh, looking young for a moment, not just in the face but in the weight of things lifted from his shoulders. Fero grins up at him, reaching up to start to cut more of the vines down from the small structure. Samol points at something Fero’s working on and Fero laughs, a bright cackle of delight.

 

“There are worse ways for him to get a late-midlife crisis,” says Samothes.

 

“I suppose so,” says Samot.

 

He leans back into Samothes for a moment, resting his head on Samothes’ shoulder. The garden doesn’t look like he remembers it from when they were younger, but he quite likes the new shape of it.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
